


Warm Circuits

by starprise_entership



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 04:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15453684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starprise_entership/pseuds/starprise_entership
Summary: Lal arrives on Deep Space Nine, and finds a friend in the station’s resident artist.





	Warm Circuits

“Hey, Miss, you’ve been sitting there, stirring your drink for the past half an hour with that glum look on your face.”

Lal admits that the Ferengi is right. She has been stirring her drink for the past half an hour–thirty two minutes and fifteen seconds exactly. Leaning forward to take a sip, her face immediately scrunches up afterwards when her circuits flood with sensory information.

“Of course it wouldn’t taste good if you’ve been stirring it,” sighs the bartender. “You could always buy a second one and enjoy it properly if you’d like.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” Lal replies.

The bartender cleans up a stain of bloodwine on the counter, and then returns to Lal. “What’s the matter, then, sweetheart? What’s a sad, lonely girl like you doing out at the bar at this time of the night?”

Lal folds her hands together. “Well, it’s not much, but–“

“You’ve got your eye on someone,” guesses the bartender. “I’m quite good at reading these things.”

She shrugs. “You could say that, indeed.”

“Now, who do I have to get you into a holosuite with?” questions the bartender, following Lal’s gaze to the young, grey-skinned woman who sits at a table in the far corner, talking to the bright, creative son of Captain Sisko. The bartender’s eyes light up in amusement as he turns back to Lal.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” He remarks. “That’s who you’ve been captivated by.”

“I understand that she is quite aesthetically pleasant,” starts Lal, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. “I do not quite understand, however, why you would want me to invite her to join me in the holosuites.”

The bartender flashes a toothy smile and leans on the bar counter. “You like her. But do you really like her?”

“I suppose I really am not very sure of what you mean,” says Lal, getting up from her stool. “Either way, I appreciate the conversation we just had. Even though it was a short one.”

“You’re welcome, Miss. And oh–hey, if you ever end up going out with her, you know just who to thank.”

Lal gives a courteous little nod as she shuffles out of the bar.

Quark watches the young woman leave. “Another one for Nog and Jake to bet on,” he mutters under his breath, smirking as he places the untouched beverage back in the replicator. “Maybe I’ll even get Garak to chip in.”

* * *

  
_She was almost glowing in the dim lighting, I think._

_No, it was just the lighting._

Lal sits by the window, glancing out at the stars. Her brow creases in concentration, and her mouth presses into a worrying line. Deep in thought, she runs the sequence of events through her head again, for the forty-fourth time that night. Turning her attention away from the scenery outside, she looks down at her sketchpad and takes her pencil in hand.

_The most striking thing about her was her bright smile, Lal muses. It was almost as if it could light up the room._

_And her ridges–I would like to experience the tactile sensations of having them under my fingers–and would she smile if I did so?_

Her pencil darts across the paper, sketching shapes and shading textures–until Lal has a completed graphite likeness of Ziyal sitting in her hands in twenty-five seconds flat.

“Lal, is everything alright?” Data’s hand comes to rest on Lal’s shoulder, interrupting her train of thought. Feeling a chill running down her spine, Lal hastily flips over the sketchpad before Data can peer over and appreciate her latest sketch. Exhaling a sigh of frustration, Lal turns herself to face Data, who watches her expression intently.

“There has been an event in which I have been unable to stop thinking about since it occurred this evening,” confesses Lal. “I was wondering if you could aid me in deciphering it, Father.”

Data nods, and pulls over a chair next to Lal for himself. “Do proceed with your explanation of the situation.”

“I walked into Quark’s Bar at precisely twenty three hundred hours, ordered myself a drink and sat down at the counter. Right in my field of vision was this young woman, whom I have identified as having both Bajoran and Cardassian origins.” recalls Lal. “Upon seeing her I began to feel a sense of uneasiness which began in my stomach.” Lal puts a hand over her abdomen. “The feeling then translated into a mild form of anxiety, which I experienced in the form of an elevated heart rate.”

She looks up at Data, eyes filled with confusion. “Tell me, Father, why is this so?”

Data shifts in his seat, and then replies calmly. “Lal, could I see what you have in your hands?”

Lal blinks intently as she reluctantly turns over the sketchpad to reveal her latest work.

“Is this the woman you saw at the bar?” asks Data, observing the sketch more closely.

“Yes, Father.” Lal’s head hangs as she keeps her gaze trained on a corner of the sketchpad. “Tora Ziyal.”

Data reaches for the sketchpad and takes it in his hands. “What did you think of her, Lal?”

“She was intriguing. I was captivated by her.” returns Lal.

“Is that all?” Data traces over the sketch with his index finger. “What aspect of her captivated you the most?”

“It was her smile, perhaps,“ begins Lal, before changing her mind. “–no, but when she laughed, it rang in my ears so clearly I thought my circuits were malfunctioning.”

Data straightens up and puts the sketchpad back in Lal’s lap. “Lal, I suppose what you might be feeling is attraction.”

“Attraction?” Lal runs the word through her head. “You mean that I could be _experiencing–_ infatuation?”

“It is very possible,” Data says, in a matter-of-fact tone. “My creator programmed me with likes and dislikes, and you therefore share this same characteristic. What is different between you and me, however, is the fact that you have the capability to feel emotions. You experience far greater degrees of liking, or disliking, and you have the ability to form emotional attachments.”

“Everything is so terribly new to me,” laments Lal, her forehead scrunched up in frustration yet again. “Would you help me learn, Father?”

“I will not be able to guide you all the way, as these I have not had firsthand experience of these attachments,” points out Data. “However, what I can do as your mentor and father is to support you through this process of understanding and analysing your emotions.”

After a brief silence, Lal reaches forward and takes her father’s hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze to signify her agreement. “Thank you, Father.”

* * *

  
_It’s her again._

Lal ducks behind a rack of clothing and observes the young woman from a distance as she converses with the owner of the shop, also a Cardassian. Peering through the spaces between the clothes on the rack, Lal’s eyes sweep across her figure from behind.

_That’s a very nice dress. Cardassian style, I presume._

Lal watches as Ziyal reaches forward and presses her palm to the tailor’s and bids him farewell.

_The pressing of one’s palm to another’s–oh._

Lal feels her heart sink as Ziyal leaves the shop, but before she disappears out of sight she turns back and spots Lal by the mannequin at the door.

“Hey! I’ve seen you around.” announces Ziyal, retracing her steps to meet Lal at the entrance of the shop. “Quark’s Bar, am I right?”

Lal nods. “Yes. Oh, I’m Lal.”

“Ziyal.” Ziyal extends her hand for Lal to shake it. “I heard about your arrival on the station a few days ago. Your father, he’s quite well known, isn’t he?” inquires Ziyal, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Word gets around that he’s the first and only android to serve in Starfleet.” shrugs Lal. “It should be inevitable, being such a rare exception.”

“That must be interesting,” agrees Ziyal, with a nod of her head. Her gaze drifts over to the rack where Lal was standing earlier. “Were you looking for some new clothes? I really could give you some recommendations.”

“You could?” Lal’s face lights up in delight.

“Well, I’ve been told that I do have an eye for beauty sometimes.” admits Ziyal, blushing. “Or you could approach Garak. I’m sure he’d be delighted to help you pick out what you need. I can only stay a while, since I do have other obligations to fulfill.”

Lal shakes her head. “I shouldn’t keep you from whatever tasks you have to fulfill.”

Ziyal gives a small chuckle. “Perhaps you’re right.” Her eyes dart around until they meet Lal’s again. “Well, would you happen to be interested in having dinner with me tonight?”

“Oh, I–I don’t technically need to eat,” blurts Lal, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she says, apologetically. “But I’d be delighted to spend some time with you later.”

“No worries.” Ziyal turns to leave, and gives Lal a playful wink over her shoulder. “Let’s meet at Quark’s later. Seventeen hundred hours. Does that sound good to you?”

“Affirmative,” Lal gets out, and immediately she wants to kick herself in the shin. Her cheeks darken as a blush of heat spreads across her face, and she turns away, hoping that Ziyal is far enough to not notice.

_Oh, what have I done?_

* * *

  
”You have done nothing wrong,” Data explains, stepping aside to let a small child run past him. “I have read thousands of informal articles on typical responses to romantic attraction and romantic advances, and many of them cite awkwardness as a common possible response to a perceived romantic advance. So your use of formal language in an informal setting can be seen as perfectly natural.”

“But will she know that, Father?” exasperates Lal, stopping in the middle of the Promenade. “What if she thinks I’m just being strange?”

“She is as capable as you are in experiencing and deciphering emotions,” counters Data. He gives Lal’s shoulder a small nudge. “We should keep walking so as to not obstruct the other pedestrians.”

“She has arranged to meet me in a public space, and therefore to assume that her intentions towards me are romantic is an erroneous assumption, since she has not explicitly made it so.” deduces Lal. “But how would I ever confirm my suspicious with regards to the intentions of her advances towards me?”

“Understanding could come with experience,” suggests Data, nodding. “Or perhaps research. I have been told, however, that certain matters of the heart are best approached with spontaneity rather than precise, mathematical planning. I can offer very little advice in this situation, Lal.”

“Your insight is valuable nonetheless, Father.” Lal gives a sigh. “I suppose there is nothing else to do for now but to get ready for my social appointment with Ziyal tonight.”

“Would you like my assistance in picking an outfit for tonight?” offers Data. “Over the years, I have managed to accumulate several terabytes of information on different fashion styles and the appropriate scenarios in which to apply them to.”

“That would be very much appreciated.” says Lal, crossing her arms. “Now, where to start?”

* * *

  
”Thank you for waiting,” says Ziyal, sliding into the seat opposite from Lal. Her hands spread across the table, receptive and friendly. “I was a little caught up in my work.”

“No worries.” Lal returns. “Would you want some hasperat?”

“I’ve never tried it before,” admits Ziyal. “I know, I probably should, hasperat being one of Bajor’s favourite local foods– but I’ve always thought it’d be too spicy for my tastes.”

“We could order a mildly spicy variety instead, if you would still be interested in trying.” Lal says, already standing to move to the counter. “I’ll order one for you.”

“Thanks.” Ziyal sits back in her seat, watching Lal as she approaches the counter.

“I see you’ve got yourself a date.” Quark’s eyes widen and his ridges raise along with the movement. “So, will it be the holosuites tonight? I’ve got a new lineup from Risa that I think will be just perfect for–”

Lal snaps. “It would be improper for me to interact with her in a holosuite programme with the nature you just described, given that I have just met her.”

Quark rolls his eyes. “Well, okay, fine then. I was only trying to move things along, so if you feel things aren’t moving quick enough, that’s your loss. Two plates of hasperat then, mildly spicy.”

Lal confirms the order and returns to her table.

She refuses to look Ziyal in the eye, as it will send her heart racing again and she desperately, desperately, does not want to ruin her dinner with Ziyal by saying something terribly stupid–she knows I’m an android, right? Does that affect the way she sees me?

“Lal.” Lal looks up to see Ziyal looking at her through her eyelashes, her head dipped. “So, uh, is there anything you want to talk about?”

Lal had never been very good at small talk, and so she shakes her head shyly and remains silent, buying her some time to come up with a response.

A smile breaks out on Ziyal’s face, and Lal finds herself doing the same.

“Your work,” Lal starts, after the pause. “You sound like you’re very invested in it.”

“I am.” Ziyal leans forward, enthusiastically. “I’m an artist.”

“I do art too,” reveals Lal, relieved to have something in common. “It’s a favourite pastime of mine.”

“Oh, that’s great!” exclaims Ziyal. “Maybe you can visit my studio and take a look at the paintings I’ve done.”

“You have a studio on the station?” Lal’s eyes widen, curious.

Ziyal gives a sheepish laugh. “I don’t have an official studio, unfortunately. I do all my work in my quarters. You could come over later. I think I’ve got some tea brewing too.”

“You’d like us to go back to your quarters?” remarks Lal, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way–“

“There’s no need to apologise!” assures Ziyal. “Besides, you’re cute when you’re startled.”

Lal raises a hand to her burning, flushing face. “Oh.” Staring at Ziyal’s beaming, smug face, she fights her own urge to run away. _It’s alright, Lal. It’s just the feelings. They’ll pass soon._

“So, what kind of works do you do?” asks Lal, in an attempt to distract Ziyal from her awkward facial expression.

“I’ve been looking into combining the two parts of my heritage. Bajoran and Cardassian.” Ziyal clarifies, as if Lal wasn’t sure. “My art hasn’t really been received too well on either side, though. It’s the deep-rooted animosity.”

“I’m sure there are people out there who would appreciate the fusion of the two styles,” notes Lal. “The fusion of art styles of different cultures could signify a reconciliation of the two previously conflicting people.”

“In a way, that’s how I see myself.” sighs Ziyal. “It’s almost a futile hope, but sometimes I find myself wishing I could move between the two cultures. To be accepted on both sides. And that’s what I wish for all the half-Bajoran, half-Cardassian children like me. For them to have somewhere to call home.”

For a brief flash of a moment, she imagines Ziyal snuggled up in her own arms, warm and safe.

“That’s an interesting perspective,” says Lal instead. “I look forward to viewing your art.”

The duo eat quickly, and then Ziyal leads Lal to her own quarters. Walking behind Ziyal, Lal observes the way she carries herself. Her paces are moderate, leisurely, certainly not in a hurry. _Someone who wants to enjoy life_ , Lal deduces. But she knows that there’s far more beneath the surface, which she might learn about in due time.

“Welcome to my humble studio,” announces Ziyal, as she steps through the doorway to her quarters. Lal’s heart pounds as she follows–how exciting it is, to be invited into someone’s private spaces–but then Lal reminds herself about how her attraction to Ziyal can really make her do silly things sometimes–

“Lal, is anything wrong?” Ziyal notices the concerned look on her guest’s face. “Do come in. Have a seat, if you’d like. I’ll get the tea.”

Lal’s eyes scan around the room. Just about every available inch of floor space lining the walls is covered, the canvases lined up against the wall in a meticulous manner. Some proudly display the colours Ziyal has skilfully composed together to form scenes and images, and some remain hidden, their true colours obscured by the white sheets that hang over them.

Lal’s gaze comes to rest on the used palette on the dining table, the paint having been swirled so much it dries into an unbecoming shade of brown.

“Your palette,” calls Lal over her shoulder to Ziyal. “It’s dried up.”

“Oh.” says Ziyal, her voice almost muffled under the sound of steam escaping from the kettle. “Put it in the replicator, would you?”

Lal shuffles to the table where she examines the palette one last time before she takes it and puts it in the replicator. It disappears in a shimmer of light, its molecules being broken down and stored, ready to be constructed into something new.

Ziyal carries the tray to the table, where two cups of hot tea sit upon it, the steam forming pale wisps in the air. “Did you get any of the paint on your hands?” she asks, reaching for Lal’s hand.

Lal’s eyes fly open.

Ziyal’s smile drops. “I’m sorry. Was that too sudden for you?”

“No, not really,” Lal gets out. “I think I might have gotten some on my thumb when it came into contact with some wet pigment on the underside of the palette.”

“Water won’t get it off. But there’s a solvent I can use to dissolve it in.” Ziyal puts Lal’s hand back down gently by her side and walks, more briskly this time, to the replicator. She retrieves a wet cloth from the replicator, soaked in an organic solvent Lal’s sensors immediately recognise when Ziyal applies it to her thumb.

Lal’s sensors pick up more sensory information from where Ziyal holds her wrist steady with her left hand and wipes the paint away cleanly with the cloth in her right hand. Her hands are warm, remarks Lal silently, and so very nice on my skin.

Once Ziyal is finished, her hands leave Lal’s–and Lal finds herself wishing that it didn’t have to end.

“So.” Ziyal starts, having disposed of the used cloth, “We were here to talk about art, weren’t we?”

* * *

  
Lal replays Ziyal’s voice over and over again for the next three days, relishing in every melodious inflection and cadence.

If she closes her eyes, she can imagine Ziyal’s delicate hands on hers. A surge of blooming warmth spreads through her, but then something within her flicks and she doubles over, giving a sharp yelp of pain.

_I was never really meant to feel, was I?_

Her heart pounding in her chest, she calls out for her father and he comes running in from the other room, his face a mask of alarm.

All Lal remembers is Data’s muffled voice as she clamps her hands down over her ears, and all fades to black.

* * *

  
”The intense emotions burnt out your neural circuits,” explains Data, handing Lal a steaming cup of tea. “The damage was similar to when you were first activated–except that now, the information gained from the previous incident was sufficient enough for me to successfully repair the damage.”

Lal swirls the dark brown liquid in her cup. “To prevent this from happening again, would it be advisable for me to turn the emotions off?” She frowns. “I would not want that, Father.”

Data shakes his head. “Even if you wanted to, it would be impossible.”

“If Ziyal is the cause of my intense feelings of longing–“ begins Lal, almost choking back tears, “then it would be best for me not to see her again, wouldn’t it?”

“I am afraid it is not as simple as that.” Data sits forward and brushes the tears from Lal’s eyes with the pad of his thumb. “You have the capacity to feel, and it would prove beneficial for you to go through different experiences, and feel different emotions. Perhaps then you would build up a stronger tolerance to extreme emotions.”

Data takes a breath. “You were brought into this world stocked with all the information I had, and I helped you to piece your knowledge together to make sense of the world. Feeling infatuated with someone else for the first time can be said to be a universally important experience to most sentient beings, and it would prove useful for you to carry through with that experience with the best way you see fit.”

Lal nods, and shakily puts a hand to her heart. 

* * *

  
Ziyal drags her by the hand, spinning her in a wide arc onto Vic’s dance floor.

They sway to the low, throbbing beat of the plucked string bass, each note resonating deeply in Lal’s heart. Countermelodies–sweet, luscious countermelodies weave in and out of the music seamlessly, sending warm ripples down Lal’s shoulders, down into her arms as she holds Ziyal steady.

And then Vic, standing on stage in that dapper suit of his, opens his mouth and begins to sing.

Lal immediately identifies the song as _I’ve Got You Under My Skin_ , an old Earth song from the twentieth century. She listens along to the lyrics, and she wonders how they sound through Ziyal’s universal translator. Would she hear it in Bajoran? Kardasi? Federation Standard? Or a combination of the three?

Ziyal pitches forward as she trips over the toe of Lal’s shoe, but Lal is faster and catches her before she falls.

“Are you alright?” asks Lal. “If you’re too tired we can just leave, I’m very much fine with that.”

Ziyal grapples until she’s found her footing again. “It’s alright. It’s just the wine that I’m not used to!” She breaks into a smile. “It was very nice, really.”

“As an android, I technically have no culture of my own. But since I have chosen a human form to take on, I have found some degree of interest in its aspects of culture. And I wanted to share this with you.” Lal says. Her hand raises, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Ziyal’s ear. “Oh, your hair’s come undone–.”

Lal’s hand lingers for just a moment longer as it comes into contact with Ziyal’s ear, brushing it lightly. Languishing in the spirit of the moment, Ziyal reaches up too and gently takes Lal’s hand in hers, running the palm across the curve of her face. Dipping her head, she locks her gaze with Lal’s and presses her lips into the sensitive part of Lal’s wrist. Lal feels every groove on Ziyal’s lips, and what makes her gasp is how light Ziyal’s touch is.

“You are teasing, aren’t you?” says Lal, proudly. “I would read this action as giving me an expectation of what is to come.”

Ziyal slowly releases Lal’s hand and then steps forward, coming nose to nose with her. “Only if my expectations match up with yours.”

Lal tilts her head slightly to the right, and her heart races as she puts her hands on the edge of Ziyal’s shoulders. Ziyal is inviting, alluring–up close, Lal can smell the scented oil she’s applied for the occasion.

_Everything suddenly feels so quiet–so tense–like everything’s hanging from a thread._

The thread snaps, and the weight in Lal’s heart settles gently when Ziyal captures her lips in a soft, tender kiss. Still nervous, Lal tentatively tests the waters, and is rewarded with a shudder of pleasure that she can sense under her fingers.

They come apart quietly, inwardly satisfied.

“That was good,” Lal says, breaking the silence between them. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Ziyal swiftly leans forward and plants two firm kisses on Lal’s cheeks. In the dim light of Vic’s lounge, Ziyal looks almost angelic–and that’s the image Lal wants to have in her head for the rest of the night.

 

 

 


End file.
